Foreign Affairs

“Thank you, Pietro.”

“You owe me no thanks, I am simply helping a father in distress. It will no doubt help if you will pray to God for her safe return, as will I.”

“I’ll do that, Pietro.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I hear something. Good night.” The cardinal hung up.

Instead of immediately praying for God’s help, Arthur called Stone Barrington.

—

Stone picked up his phone. “Hello, Arthur?”

“Yes, Stone. I have heard that Hedy is alive and well and that she is hitchhiking to Rome.”

Arthur is breaking under the pressure, Stone thought.

“I heard this directly from Cardinal Prizzi.”

“Cardinal Prizzi? How the hell do you know him?”

“I met him on his last visit to New York. We played golf—he is a fanatic—and I gave him a couple of investment opportunities. We’re thinking of collaborating on something.”

Stone’s mind reeled.

“The cardinal spoke directly to Casselli.”

“How did he do that?” Stone asked. “Did he have a direct line?”

“I don’t know, but Prizzi knows everybody.”

“What did Casselli say?”

“He said that Hedy left his house last night and was hitchhiking to Rome.”

“We had awful weather last night,” Stone said, remembering the rain beating against his window.

“Prizzi postulates that she may have taken shelter along the way. Casselli told him he would send his men out to look for her.”

First, the good news, then, the bad. “I’ll alert the Italian police,” Stone said. “And I’ll get back to you when there is news.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” Both men hung up.

Stone went into the living room, which had become a command post for the DIA and the CIA, and reported the call to Jim and Dante.

Jim stared at him blankly. “Cardinal Prizzi from the Vatican Bank?”

“He’s apparently a personal friend of Arthur’s.”

“So Hedy wasn’t lying when she said that Arthur knew the Pope?”

“I doubt that. If Arthur knew the Pope, believe me, he would have called him instead of the cardinal. Dante, is there anything in your file on Casselli that co

Dante turned to his computer and began doing searches. “I have the two of them at the consecration of a private chapel that Casselli’s company built for a prominent Napoli Catholic layman. That’s it.”

Jim spoke up. “The question here is: Who’s hallucinating? Arthur? The cardinal? Everybody?”

“Arthur is not the sort to hallucinate,” Stone said, “and from what I’ve heard of Prizzi, neither is he. Casselli, on the other hand . . .”

“No, Jim,” Dante said. “The question is: Are we still going to run this infiltration thing, if Hedy isn’t in the house anymore?”

“Of course we are,” Jim said. “We’re not going to rely on Casselli’s word that she’s left his house.”

“And if she is gone, we’re going to run this elaborate operation, in order to arrest Casselli for dealing in stolen chocolate? I don’t think I could explain that to the minister.”

“There is the matter of the kidnapping of both Hedy and Baron Klaucke,” Stone pointed out. “And we would have . . . at least one of them to testify.”

“Hedy could be dead in a ditch somewhere,” Dante said, “and there’s little doubt that Casselli could get to Klaucke before he could talk.”

“I think we have to stick to best-case scenarios,” Jim said, “unless we get more information to the contrary. Dante, can you alert the police between Amalfi and here to be on the lookout for an American woman?”

“Of course,” Dante said, picking up his phone.

“And we’re still on for tomorrow night?” Stone asked.

“Yes,” Dante said, “we’re still on, God help us.”

51

Hedy kept an intermittent watch on the trail and the house all day, and there was much foot traffic, people and donkeys delivering crates of wine, food, flowers, and anonymous cartons. She managed to snatch two oranges from another donkey, but she was very, very hungry.

Night came, but activity still continued in the kitchen, at the rear of the house, until after midnight. Finally, at around two AM, the house went quiet. Hedy crept out of her hiding place and padded down the trail to the rear deck, where she peered through the available windows for signs of life. Nothing.

She used her key to let herself in the rear door, leaving it unlocked for a quick escape; there was a night-light in the kitchen, which allowed her to see her way. She snatched a canvas shopping bag from a counter, went to the refrigerator and filled it with salami, ham, and cheeses and a bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling water, tucking a loaf of bread in with them.

She turned to go and spotted something that made her heart leap: an iPhone on the counter, plugged in and charging. She got out her dead phone and unplugged the other. Her heart sank: it was an older model, with the multiple pin co

In the back hall she found cases of wine stacked up. She grabbed a bottle of red, let herself out of the house, locked the door behind her, and returned to her hideaway, where she opened the wine with the corkscrew in her pocket and washed down cheese, bread, and meat until she was replete and more than a little drunk.

She berated herself for leaving the house so quickly, when there must be things there she could use, like a flashlight. Emboldened by the wine, she went back into the house and began to search again, going through all the kitchen drawers. No flashlight.

That done, she tiptoed into the huge living room, where she had been dragged to see Casselli before. She went carefully through the whole room by the light of a single lamp left on, and found not only no flashlight, but nothing else of use to her, except a cashmere blanket hung over a sofa. That, she tucked under her arm, then left the house again. She had been afraid to use the landline phones in the house, for fear of rousing someone, and anyway, she didn’t know any useful dialing codes.

She finished the bottle of wine and, wrapped cozily in the cashmere, fell soundly asleep, determined to make her way out of there on the morrow.

—

Casselli was going crazy. Every few minutes he got a report from his people who were out searching for Hedy, and every one was the same: no sight of her. He grew hoarse, screaming down the phone, and then the dreaded call came.

“All right, Casselli, where is the girl?” the cardinal demanded.

“I beg you to believe me, Your Eminence, we have not been able to locate her. Has no one heard from her?”

“No one, and you are going to hell.”

“I have doubled the number of men searching for her,” Casselli said, weeping. “I pray God will protect her.”

“He will not protect you from me,” the cardinal said, and hung up.

Casselli’s secretary rushed into the room, frightened by the wailing noises coming from her boss. She had never seen him like this; no one had.

—

Hedy slept soundly until midday, and awoke with a hangover. She drank some of the fizzy water, then had a good lunch. First chance, she would steal another bottle of wine. Hair of the dog.

The trail still brought a steady stream of men and donkeys. There must be a party tonight, she thought. And she had nothing to wear!

—

At mid-morning, a makeup artist from the Rome station came and surveyed Stone’s face. She clipped a sample of his hair. “You could use a haircut,” she said to him. “Want me to do it?”